


He, Who Saved My Life

by Moon_Theatre



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Different Worlds Collide, Drama, Drug Use, Getting to Know Each Other, History, Language, M/M, Mentions of Slavery, Mer!Hanzo, Mermen, Mythology - Freeform, Pirates vs Navy, Slow Burn, There Will Be More Tags With Each Chapter, royal navy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-10-06 18:26:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10341657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moon_Theatre/pseuds/Moon_Theatre
Summary: The story of how Captain Jesse McCree was saved by a merman; and of his journey to find said creature.





	1. Chapter 1

#### 1701

The sky had been somber all day. Jesse had just been spacing out for a while, his back against the solid railing, and he dreamt about sunny days and a picnic in their house’s backyard and his mother’s soft voice, singing “Over The Hills”. Wind blew though his hair, cold air underneath his shirt’s fabric made his skin crawl. Closed-eyed he stood there, listening to the seagull’s screams above his head, swaying with the ocean’s incessant movements. He didn’t see the huge wave coming, didn’t hear it rumbling.  
The ship was shaken rapidly when the water masses crashed against it. Wood gave in to tremendous weight, main mast breaking asunder like a match. The young man was violently hauled up over the railing by the sheer force of roaring currents. A deafening splash, a piercing pain and Jesse dived into the flood. In the next moment, he found himself being trapped by suffocating depths, sinking further into the unforgiving darkness of the ocean. Water, it filled his eyes, his mouth, his nose. His clothes dragged him deeper and deeper and deeper. In shock, he breathed for the first time. His lungs, eager for oxygen, filled up with salty water and it stung like one thousand needles. Instantly, the boy closed his mouth, desperate to savor the last bit of life remaining inside of him. Jesse looked up to the shadow of the sinking ship above him. The surface – where soothing air began – seemed miles away. Every little thing he connected to the safety of land was erased. No more sun reached his wide-open eyes, no more wind tickled the little hairs on his tan arms’ skin, no more seagulls’ screaming attained his dead ears. Down there, there was nothing but darkness, cold and silence.  
“It’s like a grave.”, Jesse thought. “It’s _my_ grave. This is my grave.”  
And no one would ever find him there. No one would ever search for him. He would simply stop existing. He couldn’t fight the instinct to breathe for the second time. It hit him again. The liquid choked him. Smothered him. He pressed his lips together. And while his eye lids grew heavier, he suddenly realized how close to heaven he was.  
“This is okay.”, he told himself. “It’ll be over soon. There’s nothin’ t’ do for ya in this world anyway. It’s okay. Jus’ let it go.”  
His eyes closed, his limbs grew limp, and he surrendered to sinister nothingness.  
In that second, he felt something taking grip of his wrist. Surprised, he looked up to the thing that swiftly dragged him upwards. At first, he saw a strong, webbed hand which was holding on tightly to him, then a muscular arm. Long, inky hair flew through the water like strings of silk. And then it caught his eye. Right beside him a large, shimmering, blue fish tail worked its way to the surface. Could this be a mere dream? The ship, the storm, the ocean, everything? Could he already be dead? He couldn’t tell. And actually, he couldn’t think about it now. His consciousness was slowly fading.  
_“Please stay awake, human. We are almost there.”_  
“What a wonderful voice.”, Jesse thought, completely in awe of the beautiful creature, as he drifted away into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When he woke up, Jesse found himself on deck of a small ship, a gaggle of faces he didn’t know gathered around him. He wanted to ask where he was, but he burst into uncontrollable coughing instantly.  
At this moment, he couldn’t quite comprehend what had happened to him but later on, he would learn that he was on board of a fish cutter. The sailors had found him all tangled and saggy in one of their fishing nets. They were worried and confused about the shipwrecked but now, since he was the water spitting, drooling mess he was, no one would demand an explanation how exactly he had survived. What was important was he was still breathing and would recover soon. Until then, Jesse savored his memory and he swore to himself he would find the merman, who saved his life. Even if nobody would believe in his story.

  


#### 1721

The thick stench of dancing smoke, ascending from cheap cigars, pervaded the air inside of the seedy little bar. Twilight crawled in the corners where the candles’ light didn’t reach. Throaty chatter echoed through the room; most voices were deep and hoarse, some were shrill. Women laughed, men rambled. Alcohol was gulped, some stories were shared. Some sailors played cards or with dices and cheated like there was no tomorrow, just to get their filthy paws on the other’s looted gold. It was obvious that this didn’t go without violence all the time. Most of the sailors were too drunk to even realize how their taker betrayed them, but at some rare moments, a small bit of clarity returned to their foggy heads and they managed to see right through the other gambler. Then, they got into a fight which went from verbal to physical. Fists met faces and knees met stomachs. Knifes were pulled out from time to time. The crowd would cheer enthusiastically, then. Until someone was hurt badly and either one of the crew members saved their comrade or he was left to bleed. Those fights were the only exciting things that ever seemed to happen in those countless bars in the haven of New Providence.  
That was, at least, what Jesse McCree thought. He couldn’t really figure out the famous charm of the Atlantic island. Said island was a weird place on earth, absolutely unique even. It was completely cut off from the rest of the world and secured from pursuers. Round about 2000 men and women lived there; laws and religions didn’t exist to the inhabitants. New Providence was every pirate’s home and McCree only wasted his precious time on that junk yard, because he and his crew were safe there, and had enough food and cheap alcohol.  
“God, I’m so glad you’re here, McCree. You’re one of the few men who don’t act like pigs around here. Though you stink like one.”, Sombra sighed, crashing her beer on the table in front of her. She really was a frightening woman. McCree slowly exhaled some of the smoke from his cigarillo.  
“Why, thank ya kindly, Miss. I’ll take this as a compliment.”  
She smiled softly. “Callin’ me a ‘Miss’… You want to mock me, pendejo?”  
“I’d never.”  
The woman sighed again and leaned back in her wooden seat, her right hand’s finger tips noisily tapping the table top. McCree didn’t mind the way the steady sound intermingled with the loud voices around them. His eyes examined their vis-á-vis as he took a sip of his beer. Sombra was a tanned woman; a girl from New Spain, who really enjoyed cursing in Spanish and had that kind of Spanish temper McCree had only experienced in Europe before. Her name – Sombra – meant ‘shadow’ and was, of course, not her real name. The name was a secret, and that – as they said – made her mysterious and volatile. She was beautiful, cute even, with that tiny nose and her big, purple-ish eyes. Her face was framed by long, wavy chocolate brown hair. Milk chocolate. She was lean, long-legged but a bit small.  
It was a shame, McCree thought, that such a gorgeous girl had to be so toxic on the inside. He wondered why she had chosen to live the life of a pirate, of an outlaw. He would never ask her, though.  
“So, what brings you to New Providence again, McCree?”, the girl asked, tilting her head and showing off her slender throat, while she continued with that obnoxious tapping-noise.  
McCree took another big sip. He felt the alcohol running down his throat, burning. Actually, he hated the cheap beer they sold at those bars but he couldn’t afford any other kinds of liquor, preferably whiskey. Not at the moment, at least. The man took another pull and then sighed, releasing some fume.  
“I’ve heard they hanged Calico Jack last year. Couldn’t believe it, so I came here t’ check it m’self, ya know.”  
“Yeah… Really is a shame about him. He was a great man.” Sombra let her gaze wander around the bar room, while McCree seriously started to wonder if her fingers would never grow numb.  
“An awful drunk.”  
“Much like you, capullo.”  
McCree smirked and looked down into his glass, inertly gazing at the piss-yellow liquor, in which some mold-like foam rests were swimming. Silently hoping none of the foam was stuck to it, he scratched his ragged beard.  
“Where’ve ya been the last months, Sombra?”  
“Oh, I have been to England. Terrible place. Ever since they’ve won that damn war their dumbass king… King George is so full of himself. I mean Spain had no fucking chance from the very beginning, right? It wasn’t fair. But why should that be concerning me?”  
“Yeah, right.” McCree crossed his legs lazily. He didn’t know much about government and politics, he was only certain about one thing: every single one of those haughty monarchs could go right to hell.  
“What about you, McCree? Where have you been these days?”  
“Why, I’ve been t’ some places. Here and There.”  
Dissatisfied, Sombra huffed. Her eyes were scorching and she complained: “C’mon! I know you think this is very funny but just tell me already, amigo!”  
McCree couldn’t help but chuckle slightly at her obvious disappointment.  
“Okay, okay, I got it.”, he said vividly.  
The man put down his liquor and leaned back, pondering. While he was still trying to figure out how to explain to her, he felt the other pirate’s cautious gaze piercing his face; desperately attempting to catch his traitorous eyes. Concern crept into his mind. McCree liked her but still he wasn’t sure whether or not it was a good idea to tell her about what he did the last few months. Stubbing out his cigarillo, he took a deep breath.  
“Listen, I’ve been t’ the East Coast a lot lately. Traveled from Charleston to Eastham ‘n back. Were searchin' for somethin’.”, he drawled.  
Sombra stopped her tapping and leaned forward, glaring at McCree with nasty seriousness.  
“East Coast? Were searching for somethin’, huh? You’re not telling me you’re still looking for that fantasy, are you?”  
He knew it wasn’t a good idea.  
“McCree, you’re not a little boy anymore. You need to let go. This thing you can’t forget didn’t exist. It was merely your imagination.”  
McCree would have liked to tell her to shut it and that he damn well knew what had happened that day, but… actually, he didn’t. Twenty years ago a merman had saved him from drowning, he was sure of that! Yet his memory was slowly fading as the years went by and he could hardly remember the blurry figure that dragged him to the surface.  
Also, his story was kind of crazy. A merman who had saved some random boy’s life. A merman. How ridiculous! McCree had to be honest; sometimes he questioned his story himself.  
Still, he would never give up on his task to find this merman and to thank him for saving him from the unforgiving depths of the vast oceans.  
“Sombra, I ain’t gonna ask ya t’ believe me. I’ll find ‘im even without yer help.”, he assured her, his voice slightly frustrated.  
The woman arched her eyebrow. What was that feeling she felt? Compassion? Remorse? Maybe, she had gone too far. She never wanted to discourage him but he needed to wake up already. Chasing a phantom for so long wasn’t healthy at all, she thought. And McCree wasn’t simply chasing it, he was downright obsessed with it! Sombra sighed.  
“McCree, listen,”, she started “you need to understand that you’ll never find a merman. If you still believe in this, you’re demented! Those creatures just don’t exist-”  
“Why, reckon ya wanna tell me more ‘bout those ordinary fish with fuckin’ arms!”  
“-I don’t want you to feel bad about it, though-“  
“Oh, yer doin’ great! Keep goin’!”  
“-Listen to me, Goddammit! Okay, so why don’t we meet up in front of this bar again in – don’t know – like, two hours or so and then I’ll show you a very special place? O, and bring some money. C’mon on! Don’t make this face! It’ll cheer you up! You’re gonna pay for me like a gentleman, won’tcha?”  
She got up with a sly smirk, but before she could wave him goodbye the man grabbed her wrist, grinning widely at her.  
“’course I’m a gentleman. But I’d only pay for a _lady_.”  
Sombra glared at him pouting, and crashed some money on the table before ripping away her arm. Then, without saying another word, she made her way through the laughing drunks and out of the bar.

It was late already. The moon hung above the docks dipping ships and sleeping sailors into her ghostly glow. McCree stumbled through the haven, his heavy boots making loud echoing noises with each stamp on the wooden jetties.  
As he reached the black sloop, lurking like a giant predator imprisoned in its dock, he thought about what Sombra had told him before. He wondered what “special place” she had been talking about. Some place that would “cheer him up”? Another bar with free alcohol? A brothel? He didn’t know.  
Lost in thoughts and lightly tipsy, McCree didn’t realize he had already passed the ramp and now he wandered across the deck. It was only a matter of time, when he would trip over the resting body of one of his fellow sailors. Good for him, when it happened eventually, was it was Lúcio’s body he tripped over. A groan escaped the young man’s throat, as he slowly opened his eyes. McCree, a bit in shock, tried to regain his balance; and jerked when a hand clutched his ankle.  
“Hey, Captain, is that you?”, Lúcio muttered sleepily.  
He was a 26 year old, with dark skin – probably the son of a man from New Spain and a black slave – and even darker hair. A small beard graced his chin, the trim making it look much tamer than his wild hair. Expressive eyes, sitting above large nasal wings, pierced the darkness.  
The older man gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. “Yeah, ‘s me. Didn’t wanna wake ya.”  
“It’s okay, Cap. How’s Sombra?”, he asked, yawning the woman’s name.  
McCree smirked and once again thought about that mysterious “special place” he was about to see.  
“O, she’s fine. A bit annoyed by the people ‘round ‘ere, though.”  
“I asked ya to tell me somethin’ new.”  
Both of them started laughing, McCree throatily but loudly, Lúcio friskily. That youth was a good man, more of a friend to McCree than a subordinate. He really valued Lúcio’s easygoing attitude and his nonetheless brave demeanor. In McCree’s opinion, though, he was not a good a pirate. To be a pirate one had to be reckless, cold and cruel, but Lúcio was none of those, nor could he ever be. This was what McCree was worried about whenever he looked into these big almost black orbs that were the younger man’s eyes. Lúcio might have been determined, but certainly not a murderer.  
“Tell me, Lúcio, is the doc sleepin’ already?”, McCree asked after the laughter had faded away.  
The younger man rubbed his eye, contemplative. Then he shrugged his shoulders, lean muscles moving underneath his blackened skin. “Was still awake when I fell asleep. Probably in her cabin. You’re gonna needa look after her.”  
“Thought so. Thank ya kindly, Lúcio.”  
McCree readjusted his hat and left his friend behind to move towards the doctor’s cabin, hoping she was still awake. When he, however, knocked against the small wooden door carefully, there was no answer. He knocked again. Slowly, he slid it open.  
Mercy sat at her writing desk; her quill in hand, she watched the black ink dripping down onto the paper in front of her, and staining it. Next to her, a halfway burned down candle’s flame flickered erratically. The large shadow it nourished danced jollily on the small cabin’s wall. It looked like a grotesque actor on an eerie stage.  
The woman at the desk turned her head to McCree, arching an eyebrow in surprise.  
“Jesse? What are you doing here?”  
McCree averted his eyes from the shadowy play and came back to life, eventually. He scratched the back of his head, slightly lifting his hat unintentionally.  
“I was hopin’ t’ find ya still awake, Doc. Got some time?”  
McCree didn’t know what she had been doing before and, to be completely honest, he didn’t care at all. What mattered to him was she wasn’t asleep yet. And the glint of worry in her ocean blue eyes told him she would be listening to whatever he was about to tell her.  
In large steps, he made his way to her bed and – without any grace – he sunk down on the sheets. He scratched his unkempt beard, which hadn’t been trimmed in days, and sighed.  
“As ya know, I met Sombra tonight.”  
These words were enough to make Mercy roll her eyes and cross her arms in front of her chest. Of course, McCree noticed her strange behavior; and even though he knew the answer, he asked what exactly her problem was.  
“My problem is that girl, Jesse.”, Mercy sternly explained. “You’re too trusting when it comes to her. Jesse, you must be more careful. Sombra would do anything to-“  
“-gain ‘erself a benefit. And I know that. I know. I do know, Doc.”  
McCree was aware of Mercy’s poor opinion when it came to Sombra but that was of no concern to him, really. Since if it hadn’t been for Sombra, he wouldn’t have become the pirate he was now. If it hadn’t been for her, he wouldn’t be a free man.  
“Look, Doc, I know y' don’t much like ‘er-“  
“What an understatement!”  
“-but I really wanted t’ see ‘er, while I still have the opportunity t’ do so. Talkin’ to her was important t’ me.”  
Mercy sighed. She was so much like Lúcio; a really good person – understanding, caring – but too damn stubborn to give up fighting for freedom and succumb to the system of society. Piracy was the only way for Mercy, whose real name was Angela Ziegler, to be the doctor she always wanted to be. Where she came from, women were people of a lower class. Because of her sex, she was bound to be a housewife and servant to her husband by birth. Mercy didn’t approve of this lifestyle and tried to escape. She found a place for herself on a pirate’s ship, even though she used to hate pirates with a passion when she was a child. Due to their use of violence and their bloody crimes.  
“I know. To you, she is a good friend. I’m just trying to warn you. Look, you don’t even know her real name. How you can trust her, I’ll never know. But as long as nothing happens to you, everything is fine.”  
Mercy ran one of her chalky white hands through her hair. Her yellow strands to him looked kind of like a halo in the dim light of the bickering candle. This woman didn’t look her age, McCree thought. She was 37, already, but she had almost no wrinkles tainting her oval face.  
“I can see, though, that you’re troubled by something.”  
McCree shrugged his shoulders.  
“Do you want to talk about it, Jesse?”  
The man sighed and scratched his head yet again. His mouth unlocked, he started to tell her about what Sombra had told him. About how she thought he was crazy for still clinging to his dream to find the merman he saw once. About how she had asked him to consider letting go.  
Mercy gently put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it in what she hoped was a soothing way. Silence fell. Only after a minute or so, the doctor cleared her throat, shattering the stillness.  
“I don’t think you should listen to Sombra. You have been searching for him for so long, after all.”  
“I do value ‘er opinion, though, Doc!”  
“Surely, you do. Still, whatever your decision will be, know that we, your crew, will follow you, Captain.”  
Carefully, McCree tried to catch her eyes. She was sincere, and yet doubt rose inside of the man’s head.  
“Do ya… believe me, Doc?”  
Startled, the doctor twitched on her chair, trying to avoid his gaze.  
“I… wish I could, Jesse. But don’t worry.”  
Suddenly, she grabbed his hands and squeezed them softly, as she looked right into his eyes.  
“You don’t need anyone to believe in you to chase a dream. And it’s neither wrong nor mental to dream big.”

When Sombra and McCree had entered the huge hall, he hadn’t completely known what to expect. Now, he was able to get a better look on the chamber the woman had guided him into. Several rows of seats were arranged in a circle around a small stage in the middle of the room. A few candles illuminated the hall poorly, giving it a sinister gloom. Some pirates’ coarse blather infused the air, much like their cigars’ suffocating smoke. It was so thick, one could have thought it was even palpable.  
Most of the men and women in the room held small round signs with numbers written on them. 71, 8, 13, 159… Some of them had bottles full of an ominous liquid which, McCree assumed, was some kind of self-distilled alcohol. He had never been a person to care about others much but still he silently hoped none of the other sailors would get blind because of their drinking habits. Everyone would have blamed the liquor, not the imbecile who had made it, and that really would have been a pity.  
“What is this place, Sombra?”, McCree whispered.  
“What?”  
Noises of footsteps, squeaky chairs and rustling coats mixed up with voices that beat their wings overhead seemed to give Sombra a hard time understanding him.  
“What is this place?”, the man repeated, this time louder.  
While he was waiting for her answer, McCree tried to figure it out himself. A theater, maybe? But why the signs? He had to admit, he had no idea.  
“This is an auction house.”, Sombra explained, drawing his attention to her again.  
“’n auction house?”  
“Yeah. Ya know, a place where you can purchase stuff by bidding.”  
“I sure as hell know what an auction house is. Ya ain’t thinkin’ I’m that fuckin’ dumb, are ya?”  
Sombra sharply drank in the foggy air, making a whizzing sound; as if she wanted to show him that he was damn right and she really thought of him as an idiot. McCree groaned.  
“Whatever. Why would’cha take me t’ a darn auction house in the first place?”  
Pointing out two free seats in the third row in front of the stage, the woman led the two of them through the chanting sailors. Once they finally sat down, Sombra declared this specific auction house to be quite different from others. She told him to wait until the show began and she gave him his very own sign, so he could have some fun, too. The number read 66. Confused, McCree decided not to ask any more questions and just watch the show.  
Only a few minutes later, a small bald man entered the stage. He had big round cheeks, glowing in reddish hue, and the smile of a psychotic serial killer. The small man cleared his throat and suddenly the room went silent. The rambling and banter was completely erased the moment he began to talk. As if neither the noises nor the people who made them had ever existed.  
The man on stage welcomed the pirates and introduced himself as their “humble auctioneer”, and he praised the ware he was about to “have the honor” to sell to “his guests”.  
McCree was rather amused by this almost melodramatic act of devotion. His mood, however, was bound to change when the first “article” entered the stage: It was a young girl in her early twenties maybe, completely passed out, and – except for the loincloth she was wearing – completely naked. She was being carried on stage by a huge, muscular man, seemingly the auctioneer’s assistant. Sombra had been right. This was not a normal auction, it was a slave market. McCree gulped disgusted.  
“Sombra, what the fuck. I was prepared for ‘most everythin’ but this is jus’ distasteful.”, he angrily murmured.  
The woman rolled her eyes. “Always complaining, pendejo.”  
McCree looked down at the girl on stage. The auctioneer praised her “skills” in a vulgar and derogative way and asked the pirates in the room to start bidding. McCree had a feeling like he was about to vomit. This was not right. On a pirate ship everyone was free. Only rich and haughty aristocrats had slaves, only those people Sombra had always despised so badly. Why would she even consider bringing McCree to such a revolting place?  
“Have ya ever bought someone ‘ere?”  
“Never.”, Sombra answered. “I just think it’s funny to watch these pigs lick their lips lustfully as they stare down unconscious, helpless people. Look at how nasty they are. Don’tcha feel better, McCree?”  
McCree covered his mouth with his left hand. He couldn’t possibly comprehend what she found funny about _this_.  
“Why’re they unconscious?”  
“They’ve been drugged. The effect usually lasts for like 24 hours from what I've heard.”  
“Sombra, this is fuckin’ sick.”  
“I know. And that’s the thrill about it.”  
“Yeah, I don’t think I can dig into this _thrill_.”  
“Well, I tried, amigo.”  
McCree bit his tongue as the girl was sold and the next person was carried to the stage. A man this time. Then another slightly younger man. And then a woman again. He closed his eyes, thinking he couldn’t take it much longer, and the wish to just get up and leave grew stronger and stronger; when the fifth person was carried on stage.  
“Wow, this one’s neat!”, Sombra, who usually just chuckled from time to time whenever she watched another perverted reaction, marveled.  
This rendered McCree kind of curious. He opened his eyes and instantly couldn’t believe them.  
“Why, would’cha look at that…!”, he breathed.  
On stage sat a man in his thirties, so immensely beautiful he seemed unreal. He had waist-long, silky ebony hair, which was streaked by some silver skeins, and an ivory face from a foreign country McCree didn’t know. High cheek bones made him look regal, and slim, slightly parted lips were framed by a black beard. His body was trained, yet it still managed to look delicate somehow. Then, McCree spotted something. The dim light of the candles made it hard to see but McCree swore that this man’s cheeks were wet. He was senseless but he was crying. This view broke McCree’s heart. The captain felt like this one was somewhat different, in a strange way. He felt a weird connection and he wondered if he had met this man somewhere before.  
“This is one of our finest articles for today. A warrior from a distant kingdom.”, the auctioneer chanted. “He is very versatile, Ladies and Gentlemen. You can use him as a servant or a bodyguard, or make him scrub your ship, or just use him as cannon fodder when you’re in a fight.”  
McCree looked over to Sombra. He didn’t care for the ceaseless blather of the auctioneer, who went on and on about how strong the man on stage was. All McCree wanted to do was help him and, maybe, get to know this man. McCree was sure he was able to tell a whole lot of stories about his home.  
“What is it, McCree? Interested?”, Sombra asked jokingly.  
“Kinda.”  
Surprised, the woman looked at him. “But didn’t you just say this whole thing was revolting?”  
“Also, Ladies and Gentlemen, this one is a virgin. Yeah, it’s true. If you don’t believe me, why don’t you test it yourself, Ladies and Gentlemen?”, the auctioneer’s voice echoed across the hall.  
A loud outcry pierced the silence and the first quotations were grunted by those pigs around them. McCree wrinkled his nose. He could almost smell the mud they loved to wallow in.  
“Still is. I jus’ wanna help ‘im. He’s gonna get raped, if one of them bought him, won’t he?”  
Sombra nodded with a severe expression. “Pretty virgins like him are popular. So, you want to spare him that fate? Then get your money ready and raise that arm of yours. If you’re lucky, you’ll save him. Hurry, though. Camarón que se duerme se lo lleva la corriente.”  
McCree looked down to the sign on his lap, hesitating for a moment as he listened to the auctioneer hollering “Going once!”. Then, he fastened his grip determined, stood up and raised the number 66.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading the first chapter of "He, Who Saved My Life"! Since English is not my native tongue I apologize for possible typos or grammar mistakes. Please let me know if you find any.  
> I actually wanted to write this fic since December but I didn't have time to do so. Well, now here it is and I really hope you guys enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Some more notes:  
> \- Calico Jack -> "Calico" Jack Rackham: pirate from 1718 until 1720  
> \- "Pendejo" -> Idiot  
> \- "Capullo" -> here: Asshole  
> \- "Camarón que se duerme se lo lleva la corriente." -> One of Sombra's voice lines. Means (not literally!) "You snooze, you lose."
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't speak Spanish! I have found those words in a dictionary, so if I made any mistakes (used them in a wrong way or so) please let me know.


	2. Chapter 2

####  Two months ago 

Gabriel woke from a nightmare.  
In cold sweat he sat there, breathing heavily and trying to recover. Though his eyes slowly adapted to the darkness and he could see the familiar wooden walls of his cabin, he still felt the flintlock pistol’s metal maw against his temple. He rubbed his naked arms in an attempt to shrug off the events from his dream, before reaching out for a cigar. Lighting it, however, turned out to be a real struggle, since Gabriel’s hands shook uncontrollably while holding the match.  
He tried once, twice, until he threw the whole matchbox, with a huffed “dammit!”, down on his blanket.  
“… Gabe?”  
Gabriel flinched a bit when he heard a silent groan, followed by his whispered name. Surprised, he turned his head to his left, only to remember that he had shared this bed the whole night. Intriguing blue eyes gazed at him. Jack had a good yawn, while forcefully prying open his right eye to keep watching Gabriel.  
“Something wrong?”  
Once again, the scenery of his dream appeared before Gabriel’s inner eye. Immediately he saw the red liquid spurting from Jack’s white face, he saw the deep rifts leaking viscid blood, he smelled the air reeking of iron and gunpowder, and he heard Jacks painful scream, which made him want to rip his ears off.  
He bit his lip.  
“Nothing, Jack. Go back to sleep.”, Gabriel claimed, his eyes averted from those large scars on Jack’s face.  
A gentle huff, and suddenly a large hand reached out to caress Gabriel’s dark cheek. The pale fingers gently tucked his long brown hair behind his ear. Gabriel knew what Jack was trying to say: _I’m here for you._ This gesture went without any words. He locked eyes with his lover yet again.  
Jack Morrison was not exactly a young man anymore. He was in his late 50s and looked that way. His once blond hair had become almost completely white, his face was full of wrinkles, and although Gabriel had noticed his changes even years ago, he had never thought of him as less beautiful. Gabriel simply adored Jack, and especially his gorgeous blue eyes. To him they were a piece of heaven. The last shard of his shattered paradise that was left for him.  
“What is it, Gabe?”, Jack asked as tenderly as his voice – rough like a grater – allowed. For a moment, those deep blue eyes turned into a sea of concern, that spilled every drop of compassion they held for Gabriel all over said man.  
It was an offer to help, and Gabriel couldn’t possibly reject that offer.  
“I’ve just been thinking ‘bout… why do you think the King wants to see us?”  
That was not what he wanted to say. Jack, however, didn’t seem to mind. He tilted his head at first, gazing into the darkness, then he simply shrugged.  
“I don’t know. Seemed to be important to him, though.”, he said lost in thoughts, as he spotted the matchbox lying peacefully on the blanket. He picked it up. “Perhaps he has some errand he can’t trust upon one of those young punks. Experienced sailors are required sometimes.”  
Gabriel nodded. His love was probably right. Both of them had been renowned officers in the Royal Navy for almost forty years. Jack was a prestigious captain, and Gabriel his loyal lieutenant. If there was someone worth being entrusted with an urgent mission by the king himself, they would have been the ones.  
Jack carefully slid open the matchbox and removed one of the small wooden sticks.  
“I know you’re worried but try to calm down, Gabe.”, he murmured soothingly as he attempted to light the match with a rapid hand movement. Once, twice.  
“I don’t know, mi luna…”  
“What’s the problem? Fearing about what Great Britain thinks of the Hispanic? Or is it about us?”  
“No, no!”, Gabe shouted, startled. Jack instantly raised his hand to shield the little flame with his palm from Gabriel’s sudden motion and the wind that came with it. When he saw he was successful, the white-haired man let out a sigh of relief.  
“Listen, Gabe. Whatever it is that bothers you, please know I will always be here for you.”  
With a slight shift, Jack picked up the cigar lying in front of Gabriel. He put it back between the Hispanic man’s lips and lit it with the little flame flickering around the match’s head.

  


####  *** 

  


Slowly, he came to.  
At first, shreds of sentences pierced the blackened silence; muffled voices, so unreal, so far away. Too bizarre to believe in them. Too far to reach out for them. He could barely understand what they were talking about.  
„-ink you should-„  
„-maybe he’s-“  
“-were you think- … -bring him-“  
Were they talking about him? The sounds started to come closer. The voices came closer. Got clearer. A male voice, he thought. Deep as the sea and rich as a crimson coral. And a female one, yapping like a dolphin but also as benign as one. He could understand them now.  
“But what are you going to do with him?”  
“I don’t know yet, Doc.”  
They were talking about him. He tried to regain his memory. What happened? Where was he?  
The heavy darkness weighing him down like iron chains and cloaking his vision like a veil was being lifted, bit by bit. He began to struggle against it, eager to see the light again, zealous to figure out his new situation.  
His eyes were still blurry, but shadows soon turned into humans and silhouettes into pictures. And suddenly, there they were. A slender woman with hair that had, apparently, gathered enough sunshine to dye itself bright yellow, and a tall man with tan skin and almost as many freckles down his nose and arms as there were stars in the skies.  
It took them a while to realize he was awake. The girl was the one to point it out first. Her slightly mad expression changed drastically when she noticed the unexpected turn in events and provided her friend with this new information.  
Voice vibrating with confusion, she stammered: “Err… Jesse, he’s awake.”  
The man, who was gesturing wildly while speaking just a moment before, immediately stood still. Before he turned over to look into the other man’s eyes. 

McCree stared at him, marveling the wide open eyes he saw for the first time. When he spotted bewilderment underneath the calm surface of these dark lakes, the pirate faced his doctor, his brows furrowed in uncertainty. Mercy merely shrugged her shoulders, though.  
With a sigh, the captain carefully dropped down on the edge of the bed his new “friend” lied on. He scratched his for once hatless head.  
“How are ya?”, he asked.  
No answer.  
“The name’s McCree. My name.”  
No answer.  
“What’s yer name?”  
No answer.  
“D’ya understand me?”  
No answer. The other man didn’t even open his mouth. Helplessly, McCree waited for Mercy to take over. She did not. All of a sudden, however, the situation changed completely. The stranger started shifting rapidly on his bed, struggled to get away from his observers. Mercy tried to reach out for him, but the blanket and feathers already flew through the air and with a loud crack the man’s body hit the ground.  
McCree looked swiftly at the startled doctor, who only covered her open mouth with her palms. Realizing she was too shocked to act, he hurried around the bed and knelt down next to the confused stranger.  
From that angle, the pirate had a great view on the man’s face. It was even more beautiful than it seemed to be back in the auction house. Finally he was able to catch a closer glimpse of his big, almond-shaped eyes. Thick lashes framed intriguing, dark jewels, the blackest of obsidians, and this wary pitch-black stared at him, pierced right through him. They were like two swirls of water blackened by a stormy sky, dangerous yet hauntingly fascinating.  
The stranger watched him carefully. His eyes widened in terror, he observed every little movement the pirate made. His chest underneath the colonial shirt McCree clothed him with when he was still unconscious was nearly quaking from heavy breathing.  
“Please, calm down.”, McCree pleaded, while reassuringly lifting his right hand.

He watched the brownish hand alerted. The panic, though, slowly left his body again, while he tried to understand his inappropriate reaction. There was no danger ascending from either of the two figures in his room. Still, in that very moment the black-haired remembered.  
He was remembering those men who caught him, and those who chained him and gave him those bitter drinks. He was remembering how they dragged him to a stage while his vision was blurry and shadowy, and swayed like a boat on merciless waves. He was remembering the fear he felt when all those glimmering eyes gazed through the darkness of that eerie room. All that fear came back to him for a moment. For a second he even expected to face those men again. Yet, this man who was now right in front of him was not one of those he feared.  
“Don’t worry.” The crimson-coral-voice caught his attention again. “We ain’t here t’ hurt ya. Got it?”  
He nodded hesitantly.  
“Good. So y’ do understand me.”  
He nodded again.  
“What’s yer name then?”  
The black-haired bit his lip, contemplating his next choice. It took him a moment of consideration before he reluctantly muttered: “What was your name again?”

McCree arched his eyebrow, in surprise at first, but then astonishment transformed into amusement. A deep chuckle escaped the pirate’s mouth.  
“Name’s McCree.”, he repeated with a big smile gracing his lips and a vivid shimmer within his eyes. “Jesse McCree.”  
“Mc…Cree.”, the stranger mumbled.  
Carefully, McCree reached out – causing the foreigner to flinch and carefully withdraw at the sudden movement – and combed a feather out of his guest’s long hair with his fingers. Like a river of ink, the pirate thought. “So, pardner, will ya answer my question now?”  
The stranger stared surprised at the tiny down, relaxing his muscles a bit. Still, he wouldn’t acknowledge McCree’s question. Instead, he kept biting his lip.  
“Ya don’t gotta be scared.” Still no answer. Only when McCree wanted give up already, the stranger opened his mouth.  
“Hanzo.” He had a low and calm voice, firm yet slightly lost.  
“Han-zo, huh?” What an odd name, McCree thought.  
“Who is she?”, the man called Hanzo asked him, nodding his head Mercy’s direction.  
The doctor hopped nervously from one leg to the other. Her eyes were unfocused, her shaking hands fumbled with some small piece of paper. McCree smiled.  
“That’s Mercy, our doctor.”, he explained. “She’s shy.”  
Hanzo bewilderedly arched an eyebrow. “Doctor? … Who are you? Where am I?”  
McCree looked over to the still paralyzed doctor. She just shrugged.  
“First things first. Can ya get up?” With these words the pirate got up and waited for the stranger to do the same, only to meet with big, questioning eyes. McCree watched him, puzzled.  
“Jesse, I don’t think-“, Mercy suddenly blurted. Jesse, however, didn’t let her finish. “Need some help?”  
He reached out, and gently grabbed the stranger’s arms, assuming the man was still rattled because of the drugs he was forced to take. Then, he tried to help him stand up, but he only got so far as to straighten his back.  
“What’s wrong?”, the pirate asked.  
“I cannot.”, Hanzo admitted with a silent voice. “I do not know how to.”  
Startled McCree turned at Mercy. “Y’ heard that?” The doctor sighed and rushed towards the two men. “I still need to check on him.”, she enunciated. “Yet, I suggest you consider the aftermath of the drugs, the fact that he just woke up and possible amnesia before you think he’s crazy.”  
“Are y’ tellin’ _me_ this? Or are y’ tryin’ t’ convince yerself, Doc?”  
Mercy answered McCree with an angry glare, which made the captain’s heart want to stiffen immediately. 

To say, the doctor wasn’t happy when Sombra and McCree brought that slave to the ship, would have been a gigantic understatement. She was furious.  
“You are a ridiculous man, Jesse McCree!”, she said. And he was not even mad at her because he knew what she said was the truth.  
“What were you thinking?” Good question. Why the hell did he think buying a slave was a good idea? Why did he even do that? Why this one in particular? Was it compassion? Or sympathy? He seemed not to be himself these days. The last time he didn’t make a selfish decision was back when he still was part of the Royal Navy.  
And this “selfless rescue” now had tremendous consequences. McCree didn’t want to admit it while Sombra was around but the last lootings didn’t go too well. The crew’s money was short and he actually wanted to save some to buy a new ship, because their dearly beloved sloop was old and battered from previous persecutions and battles’ torments. Now, the money, which was supposed to benefit the whole crew, became a saw to cut a random slave’s chains.  
Of course, when he returned, McCree was ready to face death penalty, ready to witness his own life’s end, to see the whole earth explode into a million tiny shards. He would have rather shaken Davy Jones’ greasy hand personally than having to explain the situation to Mercy and drowning helplessly in her wrath.  
Still, there was no way out for him now. It was too late already. The man called Hanzo was here, and they just had to figure out what to do with him.

“Pirates?” Hanzo was visibly frightened by his observers’ explanation and pressed his body against the bed’s headboard. He knew these people far too well to be comfortable with them being around. They were what his parents used to warn him about. “You are criminals? Murderers?” Speaking the last word, he widened his eyes in terror. “Let me go!”  
The woman with her sunshine-hair, Mercy, huffed, her arms crossed before her chest. “You should be more grateful. This man saved your life after all.”  
“… He did?” Hanzo flinched, his eyes averted and forcefully staring at the white cover on his legs. Legs…  
The bearded man with the freckles, Jesse McCree he called himself, scolded her with a stern glare. The captain sat on the edge of the bed, on which he shortly before had lifted Hanzo’s muscular yet somehow delicate body again, and Hanzo watched his brownish hand as he stoked a fold out of the blanket. Mercy stood beside him, determined she kept her distance to the stranger. Despite her captain’s scolding, however, she wouldn’t back down.  
“How do you think you’ve come here?”, she asked, yapping again. When she didn’t get an answer, she added: “My captain has bought you as a slave and brought you here.”  
“Not tryin’ t’ chain ya, though, darlin’”, McCree assured Hanzo swiftly, not to cause him any panic. Darling. The black-haired didn’t like that kind of talking. It sounded so artificially and made him feel uncomfortable.  
“So… You are going to let me go then?”  
McCree chuckled with his deep-sea-voice. “’m afraid, we can’t do that, sugar. Spent an awful lotta money on ya. Ya pay me back, maybe work for me. Then yer free t’ leave. If we don’t find another way t’ get my dough back, that is.”  
Hanzo lifted his head in disbelief. He gasped: “I cannot stay with you, though!”  
“Why not?”  
“I need to find my brother!”

The sun was shining brightly, a huge ball of fire in between endless skies. Genji’s obsidian eyes gazed into it, amazement burning in his guts. To him, this infinity was freedom, and freedom never was closer than in that very moment.  
“Don’t stare into it for too long.”, Fareeha’s voice reminded him. It wasn’t a classic women’s voice, not shrill in any way, but moderately low, kind and somehow reliable enough to make one want to entrust their life upon her. He looked away. For a moment, a bright white dot stained his vision, forcing him to blink more than once to get rid of it.  
“Sorry, Fareeha.”, he apologized and hurried towards her. The girl had gone a bit ahead, her fruit basket in hand. They had been returning from the market, or what Fareeha liked to call it “a place where an awfully loud and jabbering lot met only to gossip and argue”. Never in his life had Genji seen so many people at once before.  
“So, Fareeha, is it true what they said?”, he asked, following the dark-skinned woman.  
Innocently, she answered with another question: “What?”  
“That your mother was in the Royal Navy, of course!” Fareeha turned around to face Genji again. She wasn’t beautiful, Genji thought, but pretty. Chin-long black hair framed her slim, triangular face. She had a prominent, straight nose and high cheek bones. Especially impressive, however, were her strikingly powerful eyes, brown like two big chestnuts. She, also, was disciplined and very well aware of her formidable strength and skill. This kind of discipline was different from his brother’s familiar rigor, though; Genji never knew this kind of it before and thus couldn’t really describe it. Still, he somewhat liked it.  
She nodded. “Yes, she dressed up as a man for years.”, Fareeha explained. “Until she got pregnant.”  
Genji thought for a second. “You must be very proud of her, then.”  
“I am. My mother is amazing!”, Fareeha smiled widely. “And one day, I will continue her legacy.”  
With these words, the woman turned on her heel and strode further.

Sombra walked up and down the seedy barroom she returned to, after dropping Jesse and his little “accessory”, like a nervous lioness who was contemplating her trembling prey, her back slightly bent and fist digging into her hips.  
Jamison Fawkes, called “Junkrat”, gulped another glass of cheap beer, and burped loudly, getting rid of the gas inside his tummy. Next to him, his first mate Mako Rutledge, called “Roadhog”, greedily gobbled another huge, still slightly bloody piece of beef, devouring it as if it was a mere cookie, dripping weirdly red... It was a bizarre spectacle, how that lean, almost ravenous young man with his slim, unhealthily colored face and sunken cheeks sat next to that massive, fat colossus. Some years ago, Sombra would have laughed in disbelief at anyone who told her that small guy was the colossus’ captain! And even now, she still struggled with the thought of it. Yet, here was Junkrat: That tall but almost famished guy, who thought everyone was scared of him, but – truth be told – it actually was that dangerous-looking fat ass who got his back that everyone tried to avoid.  
“Oi, Sombra, what is it, sis?”, Junkrat asked after a while of watching her. His loud, shrill voice pierced right through the last muffled mumbling of the remaining customers. It was early morning, after all. The woman turned around and looked at the loudmouth.  
“I’m just a bit concerned ‘bout McCree.”, she sighed. “You know McCree, right?”  
“Big, tanned, bearded, ridiculous hat? A complete misfit?”  
“Exactly.”  
“No, who ya’re talkin’ ‘bout?”  
Sombra bit her lip and walked straight up to Junkrat. She grabbed his coat and dragged him from his chair, making his peg leg scrape over floorboards. Then she lifted her fist in a threatening way. Roadhog immediately dropped his food to get up and protect his captain, but Junkrat’s raised hand stopped him.  
“’s okay, Roadie, don’t worry~.”, he chanted, before turning back at Sombra. “Don’t punch me, please! Look, mate, could’cha… ya know, lemme go?”  
Sombra loosened her grip, so her captive could slip down to his chair again with a “Thanks, mate”.  
“McCree’s a very capable pirate captain.”, she explained calmy. “And a good friend of mine.”  
“Great! When’s the wedding?”  
“I’m kinda worried he might have lost his mind!”, she complained as she suddenly realized something. “Did you say something, pendejo?”  
Rapidly, the haggard man shook his head at her sharp remark. “’f course not, Lady.”  
Sombra shook her head, chasing his dumb joke away, and continued: “Look, McCree’s downright obsessed with the thought of finding a ‘merman’ that saved his life years ago.”  
“Sounds like a real weirdo t’ me.”, Junkrat interrupted while trying to drink from his empty glass. Once he noticed the lack of alcohol in his throat, he grimaced at Roadhog, who simply responded by growling “Bartender! More beer!”. His captain quickly joined him, hollering “More beer!”.  
Crossing her arms before her chest, the woman sighed. “And you call McCree a weirdo…”, she mumbled.  
It took the waitress only a short moment to bring two more foaming bottles of that nasty yellow liquid to the two pirates’ desk, and once again Sombra felt reminded of what exactly she despised about New Providence so much. Pigs and rodents.  
Junkrat took both bottles gladly, before elbowing his first mate jokingly. “What a cute sheila! Am I right, Roadie?”, he praised the busty waitress, whom some people would call “rather charming”, and laughed loudly. A reaction, however, Roadhog didn’t provide him with. Annoyed, Sombra rolled her eyes.  
“So!”, she began again. “What I wanted to say is, I thought this obsession was enough madness. BUT, today I took that guy to a human auction-”  
“Why?”, Junkrat asked with an innocent flicker in his gibbous eyes.  
“Just to laugh at those idiots there, of course, pendejo! And to shock him, maybe, watch his face when he says ‘This ‘s jus’ distasteful, Sombra’.” Junkrat giggled at her imitation of McCree’s deep voice and weird way of talking. “And it went damn well! Until that one guy was dragged to the stage and McCree had, like, an instant crush or so and he fuckin’ bought that hijo de puta!”  
She sighed again and let herself sink down on a chair next to Junkrat. Aghast, she buried her face in her hands. “And I even encouraged him.”, she whined.  
Compassionately, Junkrat patted the woman’s back. “Well, well… Don’t worry, sis. That’s not the end o’ the world. Ya just messed up real badly. We all do at times.” However, he flinched and withdrew his hand immediately with a big, apologetic grin as she angrily glared at him. Sombra stamped her foot and, heated, she got up again.  
“Fuck it!”, she started rambling. “Fuck that idiot of a pirate! Fuck his little doll with his… fucking soulless, tilted, mud-black eyes! Fuck McCree’s helper syndrome! Fuck it all!” Furiously, she grabbed her coat.  
Junkrat jumped off his stool in immediate excitement as he hoped for Sombra to give him a great show. “You’re gonna kill that ughh…” “McCree.”, Roadhog reminded his captain between bites. “Yeah! That McCree-guy, sis. You’re gonna kill ‘im?”  
One last time, the woman turned around and looked up to the tall man with his pointy teeth and wide grin. “No, pendejo!”, she hissed. “I’ll sail with him and if that black-haired slave-brat causes him any inconveniences, well, let’s put it like this: The sharks will have a really exotic dinner.”  
Basking in Junkrat’s shrill, hollering laughter, Sombra left the bar, her face graced by a sinister yet determined smirk. She was the lioness, she was the queen, and as a good queen, she would protect those she called her friends from any parasite that threatened to suck their blood.

The man called Hanzo sat on his bed, face buried in his palms and all curled up like a tiny dust bunny. Except, even a dust bunny seemed to fit better into this room than he did. He felt so wrong, as if he didn’t belong there, as if he didn’t belong anywhere. This world was not his and he felt it. Still, somewhere deep inside of him flickered some hope to find his way back to the place he belonged, but also guilt, because he felt like he owed the freckled crimson coral something. That pirate saved my life, he thought. Yet, he had to find his brother, he couldn’t linger around that dark, shaky ship any longer.  
Determined, he pushed the blanket aside and, with another crack, crawled off the mattress. His legs still didn’t work the way he wanted them to. They were scrawny and weak and it bothered him how independent and wayward they were. Like two inconveniently stiff sea serpents, he thought. Even the end of his legs, his feet, reminded him of snakes’ heads. At this point, he had at least found out how to move his knees. Hanzo had never walked before, and he would – sure as a river ends in the sea – not start doing so now. And so, he crawled towards the door.  
The night was gone when he had dragged his body on deck. The sky cleared up, chasing away the last mischievous bits of dark cobalt blue to make place for brilliant orange which already announced the zealous sun, flamboyant and radiant. With the darkness went the exhausted moon, and billions of sparkling stars fell from the sky, just to rise again in the early evening hours. Would the pirate’s freckles fall from his face as well once winter came, Hanzo wondered for a second. Yet, he quickly shook this thought off, as he realized he would never see this man again. He took a deep breath and crawled towards the railing.  
The pirates who inhabited this ship were still asleep. Some of them lied on deck, or then again, in his way. They made it hard for him to get across the wooden planks, causing Hanzo to sigh in frustration and bite his lip. Though the wood was not yet hot from the sun because the night’s cold still cowered inside of it, it wasn’t a pleasing walk for him. Some of the boards were loose and bent under his weight; some of them creaked so awfully, he feared the pirates could wake; some of them left painfully piercing splinters within his hands’ flesh.  
When he finally reached the railing, he let out a sigh of relief. With a deep groan and tensing muscles, he lifted his body on top of the parapet. Now all he had to do was letting his body fall, float through air until he hit water, until it devoured him again. What a romantic thought! With closed eyes and an anticipating snicker, he let go.  
“Whoa there!”  
Strong arms noosed around Hanzo’s slender waist and stopped his fall. He felt like choking, like hanging from the gallows. Not even a muffled scream would leave his throat. Those arms dragged him back to the deck, back to the ship, away from the water, the cool azure he needed so desperately.  
When he had freed himself and turned around, he faced the freckled coral, the pirate who – apparently – saved his life. _Would these freckles fall from his face once winter came?_  
“Be more careful, will ya, darlin’? Those’re some ravin’ tides out there.”, he advised Hanzo with a charmingly crooked smile.  
It didn’t matter how much he owed this pirate, to Hanzo his smile was an insult. Blushing brightly in embarrassment, he barked: “What were you thinking?”  
“’scuse me? What I was thinkin’? Jus’ saved yer life, I thought. For the second time…”, the pirate gnarled in response and blew some suffocatingly stinky cigar smoke in Hanzo’s face. The black-haired coughed.  
“I did not beg you to save me!”  
Beside the two of them a man who just a few moments before still was caught up in dreams shook from his sleep and grunted. Hanzo flinched as the man turned around with a mumble. The captain, however, chuckled a bit.  
“Let’s get outta here, okay, darlin’? I’d really hate to wake my friend Lúcio over there. We can talk under deck.” With a frown, he contemplated the black-haired man, making Hanzo rub his arms in discomfort. The pirate gazed at the railing one last time. He was not certain about it, but for a second Hanzo thought he might had have seen a deeply-felt uneasiness or even somewhat damaging dizziness behind his capturer’s eyes. Finally, the freckled coral broke the silence. “I don’t s’ppose y’ can walk, can ya?”  
Just after a beat, Hanzo found himself in the other man’s arms. Muscles tensed and large hands clawed into Hanzo’s leg and side. It took him a second to understand his situation but when realization struck him, he started to struggle, giving the pirate a hard time holding him.  
“Goddammit, yer already heavy enough, can y’ stop? Yer not getting’ away anyways, pardner.”  
Hanzo landed, back first, on his bed with a flomp. Immediately, he buried his hands in his palms, attempting to either hide the shame in his eyes or ignore the freckled coral to make him go away and leave him alone again. The black-haired wasn’t sure himself.  
However, deep seas and crimson corals flooded his ears again, when the pirate cleared his throat. “So. What did’cha try out there?”, he asked finally.  
No answer.  
“D’ya wanna kill yerself?”  
No answer.  
The pirate sighed and sat down next to the black-haired. Silence fell. Slowly, Hanzo dared to lift his hands off his face, and he allowed himself to observe the freckled coral a bit more. He was a tall man, taller than Hanzo himself, probably around 6’1 and he assumed the pirate to be in his late thirties. His tanned face was framed by wild, brown waves and his beard was just as unkempt. From his face stared exhausted eyes in a darkish bronze into snarky nothingness; and in the corners of those eyes lingered slight wrinkles, telling stories of a young man who had grown old early, who had been through all kinds of dangers and threats alike. Underneath his weirdly posh coat, Hanzo assumed very muscular brown arms and a slender yet well-built body. On top of his head sat a big black hat which he wasn't wearing when Hanzo woke up earlier. In complete silence, the man pulled on his cigar and released some lurching smoke through his thin lips. Calling him handsome would have been too flattering. Distinctive and fascinating, and eerily familiar was the description Hanzo chose eventually.  
“Are you… tired?”, he hoarsely inquired.  
The pirate responded with a shrug and huffed. “Nah… Jus’ mournin’ my dough I spent on ya… If y’ wanted t’ die anyways…”  
Sighing, Hanzo sat up. “I never wanted to die…”  
“Bein’ on my ship ain’t as bad, y’know.”  
“… I never thought so…”  
Confusion flickering behind his eyes, the pirate shifted and faced Hanzo with a raised eyebrow. “Ya… didn’t?”  
The black-haired nodded. “Yes. I just wanted to leave. I told you I couldn’t stay.”  
“Searchin’ for yer brother, right? Y’know, I’m fully aware of how… debilitatin’ it can be t’ search for someone.” Lost in thoughts, the freckled coral looked down at his hands, one of them still holding the cigar. On his face he wore a sad smile. Hanzo curiously observed the man before he asked: “You do?”  
“Yeah, I do. My whole life I’ve been searchin’ for someone. ‘n old acquaintance. Can never get ‘im outta my mind. He, who saved my life…”  
Hanzo frowned at the pirate’s cryptic way of talking, but, even though curiosity burned within his guts, he didn’t dare to ask for any further information. Not yet. When he thought these two words, Hanzo found himself to be a bit frightened by himself. He didn’t plan to stay any longer, he had to leave. Why then was he interested in this man’s story?  
“Listen, I’d let ya leave immediately if it weren’t for my money. Then again… I’m a pirate, so it’s never been my money in the first place, I reckon.” The freckled coral laughed frantically. “But, y’see, my crew really needs that damn dough, so I can’t let ya leave, even if I wanna. Sorry, darlin’.” Hanzo pondered his situation, closed eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. So he kept him not because the pirate was greedy, but for his crew’s sake. Unlike Hanzo’s first beliefs, he seemed to be a decent person. As decent as a robbing murderer could be. He shook his head.  
“You don’t have to be sorry. I… I owe you my life, I really do.”, he announced determined. “So… I might not have any money but... but if you help me to find my brother, my father would certainly be willing to reward you right royally. My father is a wealthy man, and you will return richer than a king.”  
That his father was long dead and his wealth lost forever, Hanzo didn’t tell the freckled coral. This way he hoped to both get assistance and find out more about this man who wrapped himself in such mystery.  
“Richer than the King of England?”, the freckled coral asked with an interested tone hidden deep in his hoarse voice.  
Hanzo raised his eyebrow. The “King of England”. He didn’t know this man and he couldn’t even assume his prosperity, yet he had to say something. “Richer than any monarch you can think of.”  
The freckled coral seemed to be more than pleased. He grinned sincerely at Hanzo. “Alright! So, I’ll find yer brother ‘n yer father pays me. We’ve a deal.”  
“Yes.” Hanzo nodded. “And maybe we can find the person you are searching for as well, pirate.”  
“Didn’t I tell ya my name’s McCree, darlin’?”  
Hanzo bit his lip and studied the gullible face in front of him, counting all the prominent freckles across his cheeks and nose. When no more freckles were left to count, he sighed. “… Didn’t _I_ tell you _my_ name is Hanzo? But very well.” He took a deep breath. “McCree.”, he repeated but not without a queasy feeling within his guts.  
The freckled coral – no, McCree – smiled satisfied, his eyes sparkling like the diamonds that were the sea by sunlight, and held his hand out to seal the deal. Hesitantly, Hanzo took it.

  


####  *** 

  


#### Two months ago

“The King is completely nuts! Insane! A fool!”  
Enraged, Gabriel Reyes strut through London Harbour. By the break of dawn the King had sent an envoy to Captain Jack Morrison’s ship, declaring their mission. Now, it was early morning and Gabriel was more than infuriated about the King’s bold commission. Already, the streets were full of cheerful citizens, mostly women, whose spirits were high as they bought freshly captured fish. Ceaselessly, ships landed and set sail again. Through all this noise, hasty and heavy footsteps echoed across the streets as Jack tried to keep up, listening to the lieutenant’s incessant rambling.  
“This is an insolence! King or not, he cannot demand this from us!”, Gabriel growled. “He wants us to hunt a figment!”  
Finally, Jack had had enough. “Goddammit, yes, Gabe, I know but we have to buy provisions anyways! Slow down a bit!”  
Gabriel flinched and, suddenly, he stood still. Shortly after, Jack’s footsteps slowed down, before they finally stopped.  
“Listen, Gabe, I know the king is crazy, but we have to at least pretend we’re accomplishing his mission.”  
“’Accomplish his mission’, Jack?”, Gabriel asked calmly. To Jack, his voice seemed like the calm before a land-shattering storm, ready to break loose and ravage without exception everything in its wake. And it turned out to be exactly that. Angrily, Gabriel yelled: “A commission this faulty is nothing we ever could accomplish, Jack! It’s just his own phantoms we’re supposed to chase!”  
“I know, Gabe!”, Jack responded. “But we can at least _try_. Or better: we _must_ try. Otherwise we’ll be considered deserters! _Traitors_ , Gabriel!”  
Gabriel stemmed his hands on his hips and huffed as he bent a bit forward. It wasn’t like he only just noticed how right Jack’s words were. Of course he had known the consequences of denying the King’s demand all along. Yet, it was a moment of realization of his impuissance. They had to try and investigate on what they had been told to accomplish, there was no other way. They had no choice.  
“Alright, alright, alright…”, Gabriel finally mumbled. “So, what now?”  
Satisfied, Jack nodded and walked up to Gabriel to grab his arm for a moment and pull on it, before letting it go again. This was meant as a gesture to make the lieutenant walk further through the harbor with him, and Gabriel understood. “Okay. Let me reiterate in detail what the envoy has told me.”, Jack began, while they casually made their way through the few gaggles of people. “A few weeks ago fishermen from Bristol have apparently made a great discovery, which they have informed the King of about six days ago. Tangled within their fishing nets’ meshes, they found something what they at first assumed to be a huge fish. Man-size, they reported. But it turned out to actually _be_ a man. At least half of it. From the waist downwards this man had no legs but a fish tail! Those fishermen had caught a real merman.”  
“Yeah, you told me before. What a folly…”, Gabriel interrupted.  
“Isn’t it? Still, they even described the merman’s appearance. Waist-long , straight black hair, very muscular body. His face was apparently unlike everything they had ever seen before. Pale with high cheekbones and tilted eyes dyed in deepest pitch-black. His tail shimmered in various shades of blue.”  
“And the King is interested in that merman?”  
Jack huffed. “Of course. That envoy told me, the King believed in those old tales about mermaid blood providing you with eternal youth.”  
“What an idiot you have for a king!”, Gabriel snickered smugly. “So, you’re telling me that those fishermen caught a merman. But why isn’t he with them anymore?”  
“Their ship has been raided by pirates from the Caribbean. They took their money, their fish and also the beautiful merman.”, Jack explained and shrugged.  
Gabriel nodded and concluded: “And we’re supposed to find those pirates and hunt them down, right?”  
“Well, our first priority should be to get the merman back and bring him to our king, but… I assume it’s gonna be alright for us to also arrest the pirates who stole him.”  
Above their heads seagulls screeched like nails on slate. “So, I think we should at first further investigate where those maggots might have fled to.”, Gabriel thought out loud.  
“Then I suggest we try New Providence. That place’s a paradise for insects.”  
Gabriel frowned at his captain’s remark. Concern arose inside of him. “We can’t get in there, though.”  
Jack answered with a chuckle. “Don’t worry, Gabe.”, he said. “We can’t get in there, but one time they have to get out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading the second chapter of "He,who saved my life"! I'm back from my way too long hiatus but here's the new chapter. I hope, the exposition is over now and the second chapter really set the tone for what I'm aiming for. Once again, if you find any typos or grammar mistakes, let me know.
> 
> Some notes:  
> \- I changed Hanzo and Genji's eyecolors for a reason, so don't kill me  
> \- Gabriel's hair is long in this story, because I love Gabe with long hair.
> 
> Figured, I should also put my tumblr here: http://moon-theatre.tumblr.com/
> 
> Thank you again :D


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